


Sleeping Beauty (poisoned and hopeless)

by not_who_we_are



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon Divergence, Headcanon, I didn't choose a warning here but proceed with caution, M/M, Mansion Fic, Non-Graphic Violence, Pre-Beach, erik's pov, in canon AU, powers, ugh so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_who_we_are/pseuds/not_who_we_are
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While at the mansion, Erik begins having nightmares. Charles may be a beacon in the night... but at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Beauty (poisoned and hopeless)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Initially inspired by [these](http://xshiromorix.tumblr.com/post/35895899322/motleypatches-i-know-you-want-to-be-distracted) [posts](http://xshiromorix.tumblr.com/post/35877060593) on tumblr, I became obsessed with the idea of Erik at the mercy of his powers. Then it turned into something painful and sad. As is my custom...
> 
> After completion I noticed the lyrics to "Sleeping Beauty" by A Perfect Circle were quite fitting. Hence the title.
> 
> For the lovely [harenai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/harenai/pseuds/harenai), because I knew she would read it even if it made her frown.

A single bead of sweat trailed down his neck. The muscles there were tight, and taut, and strained. His skin was flushed a troubling shade of crimson, and as he finally cracked open his eyes, just to slits, he revealed whites decorated with blood red webbing.

Well that certainly hadn’t been a restful sleep.

Erik turned over restlessly to check the clock. 6:30 AM. He let out a long breath that trembled just a bit, betraying his still shaken state. His room was completely dark; the heavy drapes kept the world out. He felt no desire to leave this cocooned space. His body ached as though he had just gone 12 rounds with a prize fighter rather than having spent six sleeping. 

Erik was not unfamiliar with restless nights. But the ache of a long-clenched jaw and the crescent moons bore into the flesh of his palm, that was new. His long, lissome fingers creaked as he uncurled them to stretch out the muscles. He wondered how long he would be able to just lay here before someone noticed his absence. He wondered why he wondered this, because he already knew the answer.

He swung his legs over the side of the plushly adorned bed. He still felt like he was staying in an upscale hotel. For a moment he just sat there, planted on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor, vaguely noting how cold and damp the back of his nightshirt felt. It was clinging to his heated skin. He wanted to tear it off. 

Erik drew a few measured breaths. Part of him loathed this new feeling of responsibility. Things had seemed so much simpler when it was just him. Sure, that wasn’t _really_ the case, but it had felt that way. He was much better suited for selfishness and self-deception. Although he was sure Charles would disagree.

The man, the ridiculously optimistic man, had seen fit to place Erik in charge of children. No, he corrected himself, no longer children. They no longer had the luxury of such a title. He knew the feeling all too well. Innocence is reserved for the privileged. None the less, Charles had almost blindly entrusted him with young, impressionable minds. This blind and almost foolish trust is why he’d silently agreed.

Erik is not a man many trust with anything.

He knew Charles would have let him lurk in the darkened room all day if he so desired. It was the expectations of their discarded and tentative charges that finally made him rise from the mattress. He lightly tugged at the dark drapes allowing for a few slivers of early morning sunshine. 

He ambled towards the mirror that sat on the wall opposite his bed, forcing his eyes open more than the small crack he was currently allowing. His hair, which he kept impeccably arranged, now stood in all directions; stiff brown spikes protruding from his pounding head. Erik leaned close to the mirror inspecting his disturbingly bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks while he attempted to smooth out the mess atop his skull.  
The reflection showed him a man fresh from battle. This morning he didn’t fancy himself the victor. The defeat rained down on him like a hailstorm and Erik’s shoulders slumped as he nearly folded himself in half. Placing his face in his palms he rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. This had been a strange transition for him, he reasoned, he just needed time to acclimate to his surroundings and his… friends.

Erik scoffed at his own choice of words. Erik was Erik’s friend. It was as simple as that. Except it wasn’t because of how much lighter his heart felt when he was with Charles. The man, and their common goals, gave him a purpose. He met his own eyes in the mirror once again. Charles made him feel human. 

It was the unmistakable shimmer of metal that caught his eye. Reflected along with his own image he again picked up on the dance of sunlight emanating from the wall behind his bed. As Erik’s eyes focused further his mouth unceremoniously dropped open. He could see it from here, cast in a backwards shadow. He didn’t need to approach, to investigate, or to ever set his eyes upon the sight again. 

He dropped his gaze, unable to think while looking at the massacred wallpaper. 

Every coin; every loose screw; every metal button… every small metal object in Erik’s quarters could now be found lodged in his bedroom wall. 

No wonder he was so tired.

  


*******

  


As a child Erik had been no stranger to nightmares. Even before his mother was taken from him he had often awoke from slumber with wild eyes and strangled gasps. His childhood was hardly picturesque and he preferred not to think of it at all. With all this repression it was a miracle the nightmares hadn’t returned to him sooner.

  


That’s what had happened, Erik surmised as the day wore on. He had had one hell of a nightmare. His powers had simply flared to use on their own accord. A defense mechanism, he rationalized. If he remained calm and didn’t dwell on it, tonight would surely be free of nocturnal disturbances.

Except it wasn’t. Quite the opposite, really.

The sickening crash woke him around 3:30 AM. Before he was fully able to gather his wits there came a frenzied knock at his door.

He hurried over to it without even flicking on a light. He knew the identity of the visitor before he even placed a hand on the doorknob. 

Sure enough, Charles stood before him, the faint light from the hallway illuminating his form. His eyes were the size of saucers, as blue as robin’s eggs, and filled with terror. Charles opened his mouth to speak as those eyes slid across the room, somehow widening further. But he didn’t speak. He just stood there, gapping mouth and humongous eyes. Erik didn’t want to turn and follow his gaze.

“Erik,” the bewildered man finally breathed out, “what in the bloody hell happened in here?”

Erik fumbled with the hem of his nightshirt sheepishly. If he acknowledged what Charles was referring to, then he would have to talk about it, and he stood by his methods of repression. 

Charles finally peeled himself away from whatever had occurred behind Erik, now meeting the awkwardly silent man’s eyes. Charles was not a stupid fellow; he was literally a genius. And Erik was almost positive he already knew what had happened. So when he finally spat out his answer, he wasn’t sure why he lied through his gritted teeth.

“I must’ve knocked something off my bedside table. I’m sorry to have woken you, Charles.” And he grabbed the door as if to try and shut it in the growingly concerned man’s face.

“You aren’t serious.”

Erik wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement and it honestly didn’t matter. Charles would not be deterred. Oh how Erik dreaded facing the damage he had done, and he knew his time for claiming blissful ignorance was nearing its end.

“Erik, your demeanor coupled with the state of this room betrays your attempted nonchalance.” Charles sighed, his face softening. “Please, my friend, let’s talk.”

He didn’t possess even the vaguest urge to resist the man, so Erik stepped back from the door frame as silent invitation for Charles to enter. As he walked across the threshold he flipped on the light and Erik promptly shut the door. He wanted to keep whatever happened safely sealed away.

“Charles,” he started in tentatively, “I appreciate your concern. But I assure you it’s unnecessary.” Erik made every attempt to keep his words smooth and imbue each one with the appropriate confidence. Unfortunately they came out as jagged, heavily accented betrayals and he could almost hear Charles frown.

Ever vigilant and always hyper-perceptive, Charles cautiously proceeded. “You haven’t even looked at it,” his motioning hand visible from the corner of Erik’s eye. 

With slumped shoulders and preemptive defeat Erik turned to face his shameful mess. 

It was a somehow worse than he had expected and he bit back a whimper (although, he was unable to hide his reddening flesh or his pained cringe). The large mirror he used daily to inspect the lines around his eyes, that he smoothed his hair down in front of, that he stood before a scant few hours earlier, had exploded.

That was the only way to describe it. 

Glass shards were simply everywhere. They extended to every corner of the room and it was a wonder Erik hadn’t shred the soles of his bare feet on the way to the door. How did the mirror, which took up half the sparsely decorated wall, explode? He was about to wonder it aloud when he saw _it_ sitting on the carpet like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Erik’s eyes darkened to a steely gray. The statue from his bedside table lay amongst the glistening slivers of glass. He leaned down to pick it up, the weight of it felt like dread in his hand. He had barely paid any attention to the anatomical sculpture when he’d taken up residence in the pre-decorated space. But now the decorative metal hand—that appeared to be made of bronze—with its fingers elegantly reaching upwards, seemed to be slapping him in the face.

He was sure his confliction and confusion were evident and wasn’t surprised as Charles soundlessly laid a hand on his shoulder. Erik leaned back into the touch and let the statue sit heavily in his palm for a moment longer. Without warning he dropped it back on the soft, white Berber. 

Turning to face Charles, Erik could feel the sting of moisture enter his eyes. His jaw clenched in protest and his fists balled. Without his knowledge, without control, Erik had hurled an object across the room.

There was no need to verbalize it. His fear and panic and utter horror at his lack of restraint filled up his head. His power was rooted in control and it seemed to be slipping through his well-worn fingers. 

Charles stood before him, unmoving, an arm’s length away. Erik closed his eyes, a single tear trailing down his cheek, and he could hear Charles’s soothing words. The man’s mouth never moved but his voice had slipped inside and was caressing the furthermost reaches of Erik’s mind. 

Erik cried in earnest, and although Charles’s feet remained planted, he could feel the warmth of the man’s embrace.

  


*******

  


“So how long have you been having them?”

Erik had assumed they were on the same page. This was utterly foolish of him though, as he knew Charles would not let the issue go without properly addressing it. And in different circumstances it would have enraged him. But, as Charles stood in the high afternoon sun, his eyes shining and his face painted in painful concern, Erik could only relent. 

“All my life,” he stated as a simple, unalterable fact.

“But this, this subconscious accessing of your powers, this is new?”

Erik sighed softly and leaned against the stone railing. It was warm from hours of being bathed in sunlight and he found its heat oddly comforting, though he was in no way cold. And despite that fact, as soon as he thought it, a shiver ran through his body. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his body and rub the soft gray material of his sweatshirt. It wouldn’t help, he knew. What chilled him had nothing to do with body temperature. In the distance he spied the hulking metal dish he had manipulated only days earlier. Why did it now feel like lifetimes ago?

“Erik,” Charles almost pleaded, “you must trust me. I only want to help you.”

“Oh, I trust you, Charles. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.”

Charles offered him a sad little smile. The corners of his mouth quickly dropped into a full-on frown, chin pulled tight. It broke Erik’s heart.

“Then tell me, my friend. And allow me to help in any way I can.”

Although he knew the admissions would be excruciating, he also knew he had no real choice. It was something that had to be discussed. And Erik would rather offer up the information, then have the fine professor root around for it himself (despite how sublime the intrusion had been the night before). 

“Last night was only the second time.” He chose his words in an effort to dispel concern. Charles heard it differently.

“The second time? So it’s escalating that quickly?” He had seen the wall mutilated from the first night’s antics when he was in Erik’s room. Charles pondered, and then mused softly, “From metallic bobbles to a heavy sculpture…in one night’s time.” His fingers tugged absentmindedly at his lower lip. “Do you remember your dreams, Erik?”

He had been waiting for this question. And although he had no doubt Charles would believe his answer, he didn’t quite believe it himself. “No. Not one bit.” 

“Do you mind?” Charles asked and proceeded to wiggle his fingers charmingly. For such a direct and in-control individual, this childlike request for entry was a calm port in the storm of Erik’s mind.

Erik bowed his head silently and briefly wondered if the man would ever stop asking. He was sure he would never deny him. 

The slight pressure of Charles’s presence in Erik’s thoughts made him a bit unsteady. But as soon as he regained himself Charles was gone. Erik caught the pale face in his sights and watched as Charles stifled a small gasp, reeling back.

Eyes cloudy and lacking their usual electricity, Charles seemed to have to fight for air before muttering, “It’s certainly loud in there.”

Funny, Erik couldn’t hear a thing.

  


*******

  


Charles had not entered Erik’s mind again. And after his description of the chaos he had encountered there, Erik couldn’t say he blamed him. If _he_ had been able to put distance between himself and his gray matter, he would have.

But they had talked at length, both men spread out over the hard, stone steps outside of the mansion. Erik found comfort in forgetting, in trying to outrun his past. But Charles never missed an opportunity to point out that he hadn’t _forgotten_ anything. It was all still there, the camp, Shaw, his mother’s frenzied screams. All those dark, inky black memories were eating him alive. So much for repression. 

Somehow in Charles’s warm presence Erik managed to find some comfort in remembering. At first Charles had sought to pull forward joyful memories, like the one Erik had recalled days prior. Even without delving into his brain and plucking them out by force, Charles had no problem loosening these long-forgotten bright spots. He just had a way of pushing Erik’s buttons.

Inevitably the buttons Charles began seeking were ones that elicited rage and aggression and Erik simply didn’t want to deal with it. As the sun set behind his companion’s head Erik snarled something about minding his own business and stalked away. 

He was no empath, but he could feel Charles’s hurt coming off him in waves as Erik abandoned him for the solitude of his bedroom. 

The next morning he woke to more of the same. In his sleep Erik had ripped the doorknob from the solid wood slab that seemed to hold it so securely. Exiting his room proved to be somewhat of a challenge.

  


*******

  


To say Erik and Charles were estranged in the days that followed would be a stretch, but they were definitely tentative in their interactions.

Erik desperately wanted to apologize to the man who looked so slight and unassuming buried in his ridiculous sweaters. But he didn’t. Fear that he was losing control gripped him on an almost constant basis. His only defense was to harden and steel himself. But Charles didn’t make that easy.

A mere week after the wholly unwanted night terrors began, his friend approached him silently with an air of measured confidence. He placed his hands on Erik’s shoulders, fingertips digging in firmly, and looked deeply into his eyes. Erik’s breath caught in his throat, his resolve crumbling when faced with the raw emotion in Charles’s gaze. His soundless words rang loud and clear in Erik’s ears.

“If in the night you find you need me, just call out and I will be there.”

And as quickly as he’d advanced, Charles released his grasp from the taller man’s shoulders to turn and walk away. 

Erik was left trembling.

That night, as Erik settled into bed, he glanced around the room, his fingers lingering on the crystal-based lamp before switching it off. The space was even barer than it had been before. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he could never rid the entire mansion of metal. But he had given it the old college try in his room. He scoffed at the thought just as his hand retracted from the lamp, filled with its cold metal mechanisms. At least he had removed the large objects and those most likely to do damage. No straight razors, letter openers, or deceptively innocuous statues here. 

Pushing his long, angular body into the mattress he tried to relax. His muscles had taken to remaining in a constant state of ready, and each morning he woke more fatigued than when he’d lain down. It was wearing on him.

He thought of Charles’s unwavering support, his kindness, and his sincerity. He thought of Charles’s face, angled close to his own, in silent promise. He truly was his brother. And as Erik began to drift off into the battle that was sleep, he fully wished he would remember the nightmare that would inevitably follow, so he could share it with Charles. As slumber gripped him he tried to hold onto the memory of those striking eyes; they would be his beacon in the night.

  


*******

  


Erik woke to screams. It took him a moment to realize it was his own that rang in his eardrums. So he closed his mouth. But that didn’t stop the sound. 

The shrill, almost animal, yelps and screeches came from the foot of his bed. Without fully appraising the situation, Erik leapt forward and crawled toward the source of the racket. 

Erik’s gray-blue eyes turned nearly black as his pupils swallowed the irises whole. His mouth lost all moisture; it seemed to retreat to the eyes that instantly welled up. Hurling himself at the floor, Erik took up residence next to the man that was shaking and heaving there.

Charles wound himself around Erik while still maintaining his fetal position. Erik’s hands found their way around the impossibly small body and began to rock slowly. They locked into this tableau for what seemed like an eternity, but what was more likely seconds.

Regaining his wits, Erik franticly jostled Charles’s body as to better see his face. The man still whined and moaned but his screams had subsided when Erik snatched him up. Pulling his hand from underneath Charles’s shuddering frame, Erik grabbed at the ghost-white face staring up at him. His fingers painted the skin a sickeningly bright red. It was only then he noticed the hot, sticky liquid pouring from Charles’s back. Only then did he realize he was sitting in a pool of his dear friend’s blood. 

Erik fought the urge to vomit. The bile crept up the back of his throat as he fully realized the nature of the wet heat soaking through his pajama pants. But Charles’s eyes were on him and he couldn’t abandon him now. Erik didn’t call out, couldn’t contemplate moving, because he could feel the life draining away as he hauled the man fully into his lap. Charles’s lips were slightly parted and impossibly red. He struggled to speak but Erik pressed a single digit to those lips and then brushed back the soft brown locks that were beginning to dampen with sweat. 

Erik’s face, wet with tears and crimson with the strain of sobbing, looked desperately around the room. That’s when he finally saw it: a hole in the wall. Not just a hole, but a gapping chasm of missing plaster and wallpaper. The wooden frame that was the wall’s skeleton was visible. 

He reached again to Charles’s back being careful not to move him too much. Charles’s breathes were labored and short, almost gasps. His eyes remained unflinchingly focused on Erik’s face. 

It took little effort to find the cluster of metal at the small of Charles’s back. He didn’t dare investigate it further with his fingers for fear of causing the man pain. And to remove the nails that protruded ever so slightly from the skin… he might bleed out faster. 

Erik all but howled as the full force of the situation hit him. It struck him like lightening and his guts wrenched in his abdomen.

In the night, in the midst of some horrendous nightmare, he had called for Charles. And he had come. And lacking anything else for his powers to reach for, Erik had pulled the nails from the framing and hurled them at an unknowing target.

Erik had killed his best friend.

He was vaguely aware that there were other people in the room now. Raven, Alex, Hank, they all hovered soundlessly; or if there were sounds, Erik would be damned if he could hear them. 

The only thing in Erik’s ears was the thrumming of his own erratic heartbeat and the staggered breathing of the man he remained bent over, silently begging for forgiveness.

Charles went limp in his arms, eyes staring up, unblinking. 

As Raven pulled him away from her brother, he couldn’t stop the vulgar question from repeating in his mind: 

“how are his eyes still so blue?”

 

“The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter―often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter―in the eye.”  
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre


End file.
